


Burned

by nwspaprtaxis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Burns, Drabble Collection, Drugged Dean, Drugs, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another house. Another poltergeist. Another routine hunt goes south. And Dean's the one hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **_A/N:_** Here we go. My first fic for this fandom outside the E/O challenge. S1-verse, taking place after _1x09 HOME_ and _1x15 THE BENDERS_ , containing sort-of-tags to both episodes. All in all, this is probably best viewed occurring around the time of _1x17 HELL HOUSE_. As always, a kazillion thanks and a huge smish to my wickedly fantastic Beta, **mad_server** , for the endless support and editing.
> 
>  ** _Disclaimer:_** Do not own. Am not making a profit. I'm just simply having fun with their psyches and returning them slightly more battered to Kripke and Co. and all that Yada Yada.

The plan was: break’n’enter, bust some holes in the walls, stuff them with hex-bags, and get out. A simple in-and-out job, taking less time than a feature-length film.

Barely halfway in, lights are strobing, furniture’s shifting.

Dean kicks the toe of his Timberland into the wall, ignoring divebombing stuffed animals, packing the hex-bag in as far as it will go. Least it’s not knives. “Sam! I got North! I’m heading West.”

Sam’s fending off an aggressive orange-and-green afghan, while simultaneously cramming his hex-bag into the wall, deep into plaster and drywall. “South’s good! Be careful!” Two down, two to go...


	2. Chapter 2

Sam scrambles into the bedroom, locates the easternmost point they’d scoped out earlier, drives the axe into the stucco, and shoves in the hex-bag.

A prickle of energy, and he rolls out of the way as the bed streaks towards him, slamming into the exact spot he’d been.

It’s then he hears Dean’s howl, raw and agonizing.

Sam bolts from the room, tearing across the single-story ranch into the rattling kitchen. Dean’s fetal on the floor, panting. “Get...” and Sam sees the hex-bag on the stove, electric burners red with heat.

Sam grabs it, drives it home, and everything stops.


	3. Chapter 3

“Lemme see.” Sam crouches before his brother who’s managed to sit upright, back against the cabinets, knees drawn up, left hand clutching right protectively against his chest, eyes huge.

Dean shakes his head, pales, begins controlled-breathing through his mouth.

“Hey. Stay with me. C’mon. I gotta see how bad he gotcha.”

Holding it gently, Dean tentatively lowers his hand, revealing an angry-red and wet-looking palm, painful blisters already forming. _Second-degree burns_.

“God, Dean,” Sam hisses, but doesn’t move. “Stove?” he guesses.

“Ice, dude.” Dean’s answer is a low, thready, tear-filled plea as he tenses, curling defensively over the appendage again.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam hauls Dean to his feet, pinning his brother against his body as he wraps his hand around Dean’s right wrist, forcing the burned palm under the stream of cool water flowing from the kitchen tap. Dean bucks, cursing loudly.

Before long, Dean’s given up fighting and he’s trying to hide in Sam’s long limbs. Sam can feel Dean’s stifled whimpers and shudders.

“How’re you doin’, man?”

“Being stabbed…” breath hitches, “with a hot poker… by redneck hicks…” exhale, “wasn’t this bad.” Sharp gasp. “Sammy, stop...”

Sam lets Dean squirm away, wincing as Dean cradles his hand again. “Hospital time.”


	5. Chapter 5

Seven hours later, the sun’s already well above the horizon and they’re just leaving the local ER.

Sam presses his hand against his brother’s shoulder blade, propelling Dean towards the Impala. He’s silently grateful Dean’s fake insurance, complete with dead-rock-star alias, slipped under the radar.

Dean’s on the good stuff and he pokes at the loose bandage again, watching the healing goo ooze mesmerizingly through the folds. He smiles up at Sam. “S’blue.”

“Cut that out,” Sam snaps, gunning the engine. “It’s disgusting.”

“Can we get som’ pie?” a pause. Then, “Y’promised.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You are so doped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N2:_** **mcnamcj** wrote [Scorched](http://mcnamcj.livejournal.com/1099.html), the remix to this fic. It's SO good and SO gorgeous. **mcnamcj** took the fragments and made it into a complete, seamless narrative, throwing in her own spin (Victoria's Secret! Lingerie! Naked Models!) and expanded it far beyond my wildest concept for this fic. GO GIVE IT LOVE!  
> 


End file.
